


you can breathe now

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Going from a very messy "you're MY something" to "we're engaged" LOL, Graduating into ZS adulthood with that tag., Hurt/Comfort, Kind of . kind of . also kind of a getting together fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Thriller Bark, Sanji has lots of feelings but I don't really get into it. Ah., Zoro also has lots of feelings but they're both mostly just somft and in love.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24335305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: “Let’s get married,” he mutters, croaked out on rusty vocal cords with a mouth tasting of blood.(Zoro and Sanji come to terms after Thriller Bark.)
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 14
Kudos: 185





	you can breathe now

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to do a waterfalling/airsipping/whatever the kids call it nowadays scene somewhere in this but I couldn't manage it, so if you're looking for that, turn around, I guess.

Sanji’s positively bristling with anger, fury crawling up his skin like a match to the fine, blonde hairs that trace up his forearms. It’s what he can manage to show, emotion rollicking beneath his skin in a torrent of things untouched and burning. Teeth bared, head craned to tuck against his chest, hands clenched into messy fists that drive manicured nails deep into his precious palms, splitting flesh from flesh in pink crescents that well with blood when he shifts on his knees. The stone floor of the demolished castle is not kind beneath the bare cut of his suit, but he doesn’t know if he feels willing to accept any granting of kindness right now, not while it has the chance to collide with whatever he’s been letting fester under his skin so as to keep his work neat and the mood cheery. 

And then, Zoro reaches up, aided with the extra height of the mattress he’s laid on, bandaged knuckles brushing his bangs where they hang heavy over his face, coarse on silky. There’s a far-off look in his eyes that disconcerts Sanji, his gaze usually so bright and intense, especially when it settles on the cook. The distant, milky look that swarms him and seems to wash down the entirety of his face, drained of its vivacity, almost distracts Sanji from the slow parting of his lips, backs of his fingers thudding on the cook’s cheekbone. 

“Let’s get married,” he mutters, croaked out on rusty vocal cords with a mouth tasting of blood. He’s smiling weakly. 

The party’s simmered down, Lola’s crew nearly completely dispersed to gather their own meager belongings on the island, while the Strawhats seem to have been content with crumpling to the floor as they were. Usopp is hauling bedding, hovering in the doorway with a somehow still-chatty Franky, his arms curled up around large bedrolls, fingers brushing his own scalp. Robin sits somewhat nearby chatting lowly but amicably with Brook as Chopper prods at his bones with a cautious hoof, Luffy out-cold a few paces from where the skeleton’s scuffed heel ends. She quirks, a little jolt of the head, but just barely, not enough for Sanji to register. Nami is just beyond the two of them, back pointedly turned as she studies some rubble.

Sanji half-starts on a yelp for their doctor, anger bleeding into confusion that melts away to concern until the words hit. He sags forward with a sigh that seems to exhaust him of feeling, face crumpled with furrowed brows and shoulders stiff, barely restraining himself from reaching to catch the hand that falls fast from his cheek between his own. His lip pulls back in the corner, air rushing past his teeth as they bite into the sensitive flesh. He lays his head on the swordsman’s chest, fighting a sob. 

It’s a dirty sort of happiness that claws up his insides, unforgiving and ugly in its brazenness, the gleam of pure sunlight through the swampy filth of hurt. He can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for it, at least just then. 

“Hey,” Zoro barely looks up, gearing up for a rebuttal of their doctor’s complaints again, before the voice registers. There’s sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose as he folds his legs, gingerly lowering the weights to the floor of the crow’s nest with a weighty  _ thunk,  _ despite the pain running stark through every muscle and tendon that makes them spasm and twitch _.  _ Sanji clambers up through the floor on his elbows, a sort of awkward elegance there that sends a rush of quiet fondness through Zoro, watching all his hard angles rise to standing in the room. He’s still caught in it when Sanji moves to speak again, a bottle of wine in his outstretched hand,  _ peace offering. _

Zoro catches him first, dismissive, even as he moves to take the vintage, “I don’t need your thanks.” 

“Oh?” Sanji sneers, something ugly in it, reflexive and quick like the snarl of a wounded animal. “If anything, I don’t remember  _ asking  _ for any”--he cuts himself off, walking over to the window and settling on the bench with his knees pulled up--”that’s not what I came for, asshole.” His face softens from where Zoro can see it reflected in the glass, set washed out and translucent against the endless blue of the yawning sky. 

Zoro doesn’t rise to his feet, simply shuffles across the floor with an awkward little slide until he can press himself to the edge of the bench, arm bearing the bottle draping over Sanji’s polished shoes, the other curling into the gap between the cook’s thighs and abdomen. 

As Sanji recoils at the sweaty  _ plop  _ of Zoro’s arm, muttering a quiet  _ you always do this to me _ , Zoro pops the cork with his thumb and lifts the bottle to take a swig. Floral and heady, the wine settles warm on his tongue and buzzes pleasantly, makes him huff a breath through his nose. He gestures with the bottle when he draws it away from his mouth, tips the bottom up towards Sanji and the cook shakes his head, instead reaching down to card his fingers through Zoro’s hair with a quiet hum. 

The sun is streaming through the panes in full force, lighting the edge of his vision with gold and casting heavy shadows over the severe, handsome lines of Zoro’s face. His earrings jangle when Sanji runs his nails over the curve of his scalp, gentle with his thumb as he brushes a bruise tucked behind the swordsman’s ear. His chest fills with the quiet warmth, pushing the grief and guilt apart like the slow trickle of water through rock. He can’t tell if he’s the rock, firm and stolid, cruel in its unflinching resolve, or the water, lonely years of pounding fists to wrench forth infinitesimal yield, the barest of cracks. 

Not even the depressing metaphors are enough to fight the affection, it seems.

“Did you,” he hums again, quiet against Zoro’s ragged breath, still wracked with the exhaustion of his workout, “mean it?” 

Zoro swallows on air this time, setting the bottle down by their feet and tipping his head closer. The cook’s flattened one of his legs to get a better look, and Zoro presses his forehead to where his knee protrudes from the bench as he gazes up to meet the trepidation in Sanji’s stare. Despite it all, he still knows his cook well enough to be able to place the exact pain-hazed memory he’s referring to.

He barks a laugh. Sanji’s face nearly glows with the rush of blood to his cheeks, slapping against Zoro’s arm. He sputters, trying to push the swordsman off of him, but Zoro grabs a fistful of his tie (no suit today, just a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up handsomely) instead, sends the blonde tumbling to the floor over him, narrowly missing landing a blow to the bottle of wine with his ankle. It’s loud and hurts far more than it should, makes him wince in an admission of weakness he wouldn’t have afforded at any other time, and Sanji takes notice, concern knitting his brow when he gathers himself on his elbows over Zoro. The swordsman fights through the pain, still laughing and grinning. 

“That’s what you’re worried about? Still itching for a wedding after that, swirly?” he kicks their loosely twined legs, a subtle hint to Sanji to take the weight off him. His knees settle on the outside of Zoro’s, and he flushes when he laughs a little in kind. 

“I’d kick you, but I think seeing you get taken out by the next mild breeze might be more satisfying.” he punctuates the words with a nudge of his knees to Zoro’s upper thigh, burning with exercise strain and the lingering fight. 

Zoro reaches between them to grasp Sanji’s tie again, this time yanking him into a kiss. The slot of their mouths is familiar, slow-warming and brief before Zoro lets his head thunk to the floor again. 

“Of course I meant it.” Zoro lets his smile narrow into something less giddy, more sincere, with the little crease at the edge that Sanji needs to quash the urge to kiss (his own face is much more inverse, smile brightening and widening until Zoro needs to crinkle his eyes to see past the light he casts). There’s so much more to say-- _ of course it’s you, it couldn’t be anyone but, I’d never have considered this without you and your stupid romance obssession, don’t you see how much you…-- _ but Zoro’s not one to blubber romantically, doesn’t know what else Sanji needs to hear. 

The hope in his gaze, the barest hint of a steeling in combination with an underlying current of absolute  _ conviction _ , as if there exists no possible universe in which they wouldn’t be together in some inextricable way, is enough for Sanji, though. 

“Did you get me a ring?” Sanji snickers, reaching to take Zoro’s hand in his. 

Zoro seems genuinely confused for a second, seemingly having lost his step in the usual ease of their back-and-forth banter. “For what?” his eyebrows are furrowed. Sanji groans, letting his head thunk down beside Zoro’s, unsure whether it’s worse if he’s joking or not. 

He doesn’t mind too much when Zoro turns his head to bring them into another kiss, fingers squeezing where they neatly fill the gaps between his own.

Zoro wraps his arms around the cook’s cushioned waist, sighing contentedly as he settles into the hug. He loves the man’s angles, sharp and crisp, perfectly characteristic of Black-leg Sanji, but something about seeing him bundled up under a hoodie, made soft and loose, makes him eager to reach out and touch--find the hard lines of his elbows and shoulder-blades beneath the hulking cloth with his own hands. He warbles something sleepy into his neck that sounds a lot like “Mrrm… husband…”, the warm huff tickling up to his ears. 

“Fiancé, actually,” Sanji smiles with all his teeth, one of those All-Blue smiles, winding his own arms over the ones that swallow his abdomen as he leans over the railing. 

And then, he curls his fingers, lets the cherry of his cigarette leave a lingering, threatening heat over the bandage crossing the hard ridges of Zoro’s abdomen.

“Don’t think we aren’t going to talk about the rest, though.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The amount of ZS drafts I have just rotting there and my ass STILL went and wrote this in one night. Big fan of this idea (it is very cute T_T they are soulmates) but not super happy with the execution. Probably something I'll end up rewriting, if I can? Doesn't hurt to get it out, though.
> 
> Please leave a comment/concrit/etc. if you enjoyed or have anything to say! I really do appreciate all of it.
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


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